


Aeviternity

by Mierin



Series: home is a person (it'll always be you) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, mutant!reader, reader and Bucky were lovers in the 40s, reader is immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6951622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierin/pseuds/Mierin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What is all this? How do we know each other?” he demands harshly, gesturing towards the bed with his free hand. And yet you can see past the cold metal of his fingers pressing into your throat and the icy sharpness of his gaze to the hidden vulnerability. </p><p>“Some things never change, James,” you tell him, voice as soft as if you were lying content in his arms and whispering confessions of love against bare skin, and his eyes soften almost involuntarily, “all of this—you and me—is one of those things.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aeviternity

**Author's Note:**

> This is set some time before CA:TWS.

The minute you step into your apartment, you know that something is off. The sounds from the street below are far too clear, as if there’s a window open somewhere- and you know that they had all been shut when you left that morning. And your gut tells you that there is something terribly, awfully, wrong.

You tense, and begin to step more carefully, your footfalls almost noiseless, as you advance further into your home- hands clenching into fists at your sides almost unconsciously, leaking wisps of blue light, a manifestation of your power.

Because you know that this isn’t just some standard break-in by a robber—your front door had been untouched—no, this is something much more serious, and you are fairly certain that whoever it is that is lying in wait for you has come with the intention of killing you. Or capturing you in order to study your mutation, which is decidedly the worse option.

You check each room as you pass it and finally, you come upon the intruder in your bedroom: it is a man, and even in the insufficient light you can distinguish his tall, powerful physique but more than this, it is the odd metallic glint of his left hand that puts you even more on edge than you already are.

Barely seconds later, he turns on his heel to face you, and you notice that most of his face is covered by a mask. And you throw out your arms, the wisps of light coalescing into whips that spin out towards him- one cutting his cheekbone dangerously close to his eyes, the other coiling around his left arm before he has a chance to react.

And then he is moving, pulling free from your hold with more than human strength and advancing towards you with a knife in hand. Out of the corner of your eye you notice that the nightstand by your bed has been ransacked, the contents of its drawers littering the floor and the bed itself.

Even as you realize this, the man swipes at you and you barely manage to deflect his knife by transforming your whips into a knife of your own. But you had not accounted for his free hand, and he seems to find it only too easy to reach past your guard and knock you down.

Not to be outdone , you ignore the unreasonable amount of pain in your stomach—there is definitely something different about his left arm—and resort to a whip again and strike out towards your assailant based on instinct alone.

His mask clatters to the floor, and you take advantage of his momentary distraction to scramble to your feet again, preparing to lash out again. And the steel-blue whip falls away half-formed as you look up and catch a glimpse of his face.

Time seems to stop, and you simply stand there, staring at him, your hands hanging helplessly at your sides because the man whose death you have mourned for what seems like eternity—the man whom you have never been able to forget, never stopped loving— cannot be here in your house, alive.

All thoughts of fighting back leave your mind, and when he rushes at you, infuriated, you let him push you back against the wall and cage you there- refusing to struggle even as he puts you in a chokehold.

“What is all this? How do we know each other?” he demands harshly, gesturing towards the bed with his free hand. And yet you can see past the cold metal of his fingers pressing into your throat and the icy sharpness of his gaze to the hidden vulnerability.

“Answer me!” he snarls when you remain silent, and you prepare to reply, a slow smile forming on your lips because he is really here. And that is all you truly care about in that moment, how he survived, and why he is here, why he doesn’t seem to remember you, and why he is trying to kill you are all questions that can be left for a later time.

“Some things never change, James,” you tell him, voice as soft as if you were lying content in his arms and whispering confessions of love against bare skin, and his eyes soften almost involuntarily, “all of this—you and me—is one of those things.”

As you speak, you slowly raise one hand to his face, stroking the cut you had inflicted on his cheek with the very tips of your fingers and yet even that soft touch seems to startle him and he lets go of you immediately, as if your words have burned him, or perhaps it is your touch. And then he is backing away into the shadows until you can no longer see the details of his face, or the expression in his eyes.

“____,” he breathes, his voice losing its threatening edge, and your name falls past his lips almost like a prayer.

“Yeah, it’s me Bucky,” you say, voice equally soft, because you can read the doubt in his tone as if it were something palpable. And when you follow him—past the letters and the photographs scattered on the bed— into the shadowed sitting alcove he has retreated into, it is at a slow pace, trying your hardest not to startle him away again.

And it works; he stays slouched against the wall in the corner, watching you approach him with hooded eyes that hold only a token amount of wariness. You stop a few steps from him, watching him watch you, and taking in the turbulence of his shifting expressions, probably the result of memories coming back to him- or so you hope.

“You knew?” he asks finally, his tone grown almost accusatory, “You knew I was coming?”

“No, not really,” you tell him, and you think that if there is anything of the man who loved you left in him then he knows you mean yes; that in the depths of your heart—which has been his for a very long time now—you have always known that he wasn’t truly gone.

Because if he died, wouldn’t you cease to exist too?

“Good,” he huffs the word out with no small amount of melancholy and it is your turn to feel shocked. But you don’t back away as he did- no, even the thought of doing so doesn’t strike you.

“Bucky,” you begin, reaching out towards him hesitantly, because all of a sudden, you feel ever so vulnerable and looking to him for meaning comes naturally to you despite the decades that have passed.

“I don’t… I can’t remember much- a name, and memories of laughter, and a vague feeling of..” he cuts himself off abruptly, and when he continues speaking his voice is cold again, “they mean nothing. I’m not going to kill you but I’ll tell my superiors that I did. You should leave this place, go somewhere new. Forget about this, move on.”

He gestures to the keepsakes scattered across your bed as he speaks and you look at them for a long while before steeling yourself and shifting your gaze back to the man himself.

“No, damn you Barnes, you don’t get to make that decision,” you are almost yelling, and yet you cannot bring yourself to calm down as you close the distance between you, “not now, not like this.”

“____,” his eyes are the saddest you’ve ever seen them, and this time he is using your name as a plea to keep you from coming any closer.

“Shh,” you ignore him and take the final step. You cup his face with trembling hands and give him a few seconds to get used to the feel of you before pressing your lips to his in a kiss that is lingering even in its chastity. You pull away when a tear hits your cheek and find that his eyes have slipped shut, and his breathing is ragged.

“I’m not him,” he whispers mere seconds later, voice soft again, “this man you loved, who loved you in return, who made you happy. I’m not him. And I may never be him again.”

“I know, but we all change James,” you slip back to using his given name, the name you first knew him by, the one you always use when you speak of love, “and I know the truth of that better than most. So stay with me, and we’ll figure this out together. Stay with me, and we will burn the ones who thought they could keep you like a pet and make you do their bidding. Just… stay. Please.”

He looks at you as if he can’t quite believe that you want him to stay, and you can see that he is struggling for words so you wait, and hope.

“I never could refuse you,” he says finally, cracking a smile, “apparently that hasn’t changed.”

All at once, you are laughing despite the fact that tears are trailing down your cheeks and even as your hands slip around his neck and into his hair, his hands wrap around your waist and you feel as if you’ve come home. And oh, what a relief that is after being alone for so long.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There will be two more fics in this series, and they'll be posted soon. (Also, this was originally posted on tumblr and dA)


End file.
